#squelching leeches

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Squelching Leeches

Setting foot in their muck is an open invitation.

Artist: Svetlin Velinov TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[lowkeycasanova]

luffy a munch fr.

WAAAAAIIIIIIITTTTT YOURE ONTO SOMETHING

**

luffy x afab!reader

plot: he doesn't necessarily want anything in return, he just likes to eat you out

NSFW

Luffy's an eater.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, anytime, anywhere.

The smile that comes across his face when you spread your legs for him is unmatched. He bends down, his wide grin showing off his pearly whites reflect his boundless enthusiasm. His eyes sparkle with joy as he cups your legs to bring you closer while coming closer to meet you halfway.

His mouth initially covers your entire pussy, as if to accommodate for his voracious appetite. The squelching noises equal satisfaction followed by some kisses as he continues.

The taste of you explodes in his mouth, rich and savory, and he's just as excited as if this was his first time. There are times when he's honestly not doing it for you, he's doing it for himself. He's hungry and he's going down on you like it's his last meal.

He eats with gusto. You briefly look at him and he's got this look in his eye that lets you know that he's so happy to be here. Each suck of your supple flesh is accompanied by enthusiastic moans and he closes his eyes to enjoy it.

Despite how excited he is, the movements of his lips and tongue are swift and precise.

Your arousal and his saliva flow freely, coating his tongue, running down his chin, and he's got some on his cheeks but he pays it no mind. It's so wet, it's ridiculous. He be drowning and not coming up for air. In his mind, if he dies, well at least he was happy.

Call him a leech the way he's stuck to you.

But it's all fun and games until he thinks you taste a little too good and starts biting.

[rabidbatboy]

♱ GORE / FLESH / VISCERA ID PACK . . .

NAMES ; fester , leech , wound , butcher , grime , scum , blade , hound , molar , corpse , razor , mortis , revenant , spite , carcass , spike , danger , tooth , zomb , roadkill , carrion , killer , deadmeat , bones , brute , rib , rot , necro

PRNS ; squish / squishs , flesh / fleshs , meat / meats , gut / guts , blood / bloods , teeth / teeths , gore / gores , viser / viscera , skin / skins , squelch / squelchs , scab / scabs , sinew / sinews , entrail / entrails , slice / slices , wound / wounds , fester / festers , bone / bones , corpse / corpses , intestine / intestines

TiTLES ; the one covered in guts , the bloody thing , the one whose entrails fell out , the sickening thing , [X] gorey mess , the pile of flesh , the pit of squirming meat , [X] who rips flesh , [X] who tears skin , the festering meat , [X] twisted mutilation , the thing of nightmares , the one dripping blood , [X] whose body is rotting , the living corpse

iDENTiTiES ; goreboy/goregirl , goreimagic , gorebeing , slashgoreic , caeduerine , visceralexic , bloodimric , bloodcovic , visceraesic , gorelexic , intestinaesic , goremc , fleshboy/fleshgirl , woundthing , goremeatian , gendergore , meatboy , bloodgender , meatabyss , fleshlexic , fleshgoregender , fleshthing , viscerarian

🦇 ——— REQ BY ; @alphabet-mafia-collective

[ PT: gore/flesh/viscera id pack

names;

prns;

titles;

identities; (links)

requested by; @/alphabet-mafia-collective / END PT]

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn���t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."

[frostbitebakery]

Part 1

Part 2

“We’re losing him!”

“Hold on, Obi-Wan. It’s not your time yet.”

“The infection is eating through the thyroid.”

“Stabilize him!”

“It’ll be alright, little one, don’t cry. Just squeeze my hand.”

“It’s attacking the mandible and sternum. Move, move!”

“It’s going to be alright.”

“Save what you can!”

“Hold on, Obi-Wan. Listen to the Force.”

The tears on Master Qui-Gon’s face looked strange. He had seen him cry before but never over him. It hurt to move his mouth, hurt even more to speak. Hurt— hurt a lot to speak. He wasn’t sure he was actually saying anything. But he tried because Master Qui-Gon looked devastated and Obi-Wan already had broken his heart by choosing to become a Shadow as soon as his return to the Temple was permanent. “The Force is with—“

Obi-Wan opens his eyes. Makes sure the mask is in place.

The rain still hasn’t ceased its steady downpour. He pulls Mace’s robe tight around himself. His own robe, seldom as he uses it, might have been lost on the battlefield where he had dropped it, but semantics. Mace’s spare robe squelches.

Obi-Wan will never be dry again.

Wings snap back into armored plates as the hyperjets power down, and Obi-Wan takes a bit of pleasure watching Cody land silently despite the mass of the clone armor.

“The siege is going well,” Cody says, tapping one of multiple antenna links on his helmet. Obi-Wan smiles under the mask. Quin and Bant have accused him many a times of having weird preferences, but the professionalism and calm control Cody so casually exudes is very, very attractive. The news makes him even more attractive. “Shouldn’t take longer than three months,” Cody continues, optimism apparent even with the vocoder.

Any kind of attraction spurning on Obi-Wan’s wet, frozen body drowns in the rain rather pityfully. “Three months,” he repeats in tap code where he’s gripping the robe.

The helmet turns to him fully. “Yes. It’s going really well.”

Obi-Wan strengthens his resolve to leech off any warmth Cody possesses when they crawl into bed after their shift.

.

“You can’t ever steal my voice,” Cody repeats in a murmur, fingertip stroking over the words on Obi-Wan’s forearm. He looks up to find blue eyes watching him over the mask. “Is that your sense of humor or your defiance speaking?”

The hand where he started tracing the letters moves back and forth, undecided. A little bit of both, then, Cody guesses.

The hand is retracted, flows so naturally into sign language. “Many tried.”

“Tried to steal your voice?” At Obi-Wan’s nod, Cody shuffles up the bed, re-categorizing the scars he’s seen. “No one was ever successful, I’m guessing.”

“Many broken bones on both sides,” is signed with a careless shrug before Obi-Wan turns serious, determination and the even more familiar defiance spinning Cody close. “I will only ever be silent of my own choosing.”

[bitter69uk]

Hagsploitation truly is the horror sub-genre that keeps on giving. Sparked by the unexpected success of 1962’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? in the 1960s and 70s, maturing female stars of golden age Hollywood extended their careers by swallowing their pride, embracing their inner scream queen and plunging into exploitation shockers: think of Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Tallulah Bankhead, Olivia de Havilland, Agnes Moorehead and Shelley Winters starring in the likes of Strait-Jacket, Hush … Hush … Sweet Charlotte, Berserk, Lady in a Cage, Die Die My Darling, Dear Dead Delilah and especially the “question movies” Whoever Slew Auntie Roo?, What’s the Matter with Helen? and What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice? Roaring back from career doldrums (I last remember her playing Miley Cyrus’ mother), 61-year-old Demi Moore finds herself in a similar position in director Coralie Fargeat’s grisly and stylish satire The Substance. In a gutsy, exposed (in every sense) performance, Moore plays Elisabeth Sparkle, a middle-aged television celebrity abruptly fired by ageist and sexist network executive Dennis Quaid (really chomping the scenery). Despondent, Elisabeth takes desperate measures to rejuvenate her “best self” with a mysterious unregulated black market scientific procedure called The Substance … and things swiftly unravel. Characterized by stunning art direction and a visceral sound design that emphasizes every repulsive squelching noise, The Substance ratchets up maximum dread and offers a goldmine of knowing movie references: Basket Case. Carrie. Death Becomes Her. Every single David Cronenberg “body horror” flick but particularly The Fly. Thematically, it reminded me of two specific b-movies from the late 1950s: The Wasp Woman and The Leech Woman, in which the anti-heroine experiments with science (or voodoo) to restore youth and beauty with monstrous consequences (and – it must be noted - these films make their point with a fraction of The Substance’s budget and two hour-and 40-minute running time). The Substance is bound to be divisive. There was multiple “walk outs” when I saw it. And has Fargeat lost control of the material by the ultra-gory splatter fest finale? However you cut it, it’s a wild ride and destined for cult status.

[eldritch-spouse]

Maaan, it feels like y'all sleepin' on Caius with the lack of questions for him.

What's Caius like when his obsession is on their period?

TW: Period sex

Caius, vampiric leech that he is, knows extremely early on, which is why he's very quick to approach you.

See, this is a wonderful time for you! You should be joyous! Many people of your sex have been blessed with the ability to bleed from their core, which cures their bodies. But unfortunately, if not treated adequately, it will not cure the soul.

You should make the most of this divinely-sanctioned bleeding by allowing him to cleanse you in these moments. No more pain than the one you are already naturally enduring is necessary, you simply must let Caius treat this blood the same way he would the blood you so generously and wisely let flow during other times of the month.

This means that, quite like he does normally, Caius is still supposed to extract that blood out of you. This can be done a myriad of ways, so don't you worry, it's perfectly normal when he inserts two careful fingers into your heat and fingers that mess out of you. Caius breathes hard and drools on your shoulder as he watches the red flow spread across his digits, hearing it drip to the altar ground and the squelch of your greedy cunt trying to trap him.

It's quite alright, Caius doesn't blame you, you cannot control the hormonal state of your body and he will not mock you for such wanton responses. You are pure.

Fingers become his mouth. Caius is reverent and sweet, taking his time to drag out the moment and act as if he's not intentionally pleasuring you with his motions. Being a leech means that the monster can very easily wrap his whole mouth around you and suck quite hard. This, paired with his increasingly incessant motions and continuous stimulation, will make it very difficult for you to not orgasm.

And though you may try to warn Caius, to tell him that perhaps he should stop, the Exsanguinarius will have none of it, and you'll have no choice but to cum right then and there.

Though the shame courses through you from head to toe, the leech simply offers a scarlet smile as he assures you that you've done no wrong, that this happens sometimes.

He presumes you will be visiting him daily for the remainder of your menstruation, yes?

[squishysoftmonsters]

Triggers : Sexual Content/Expansion/[Mature +18 Minors /Ageless DNI]

💚Imagine trying to use the water in your home..but it was green otherworldly slime that had the feeling of man jizz..

Imagine coming home after a hard day of work. You hear squelches,scrambling and chitter sounds,as if little monsters invaded the plumbing of your house.

Usual bathroom time for you was 3am..but your tired eyes focused on a lengthy mass that seemed to be asleep in the sink. Its glow was very faint. You thought it was an alien leech.

Nervously turning on the light,it was several glowing penile eel monsters that screeched awake once the light hit them,trying to scramble out of the sink. They squished and writhed free of your firm hold,slithering back into hiding.

You : Seriously,dildo monsters in my house? This can't be happening to me..

You sighed looking at your impressive collection and dropped your face into your hands while sitting on your bed. The plumber would laugh his ass off with you trying to explain that living dildo monsters are affecting the quality of water. Who could you tell?

Your head did a u turn at a chitter under your bed,a single green eye staring into yours.

You : [softly] Its okay little guy. You can come out. Pun not intended.

A soft mrrrrp noise came from the penile alien creature as it inched toward your hand. The red and white banding throughout with teeth decor supporting it's body reminded of your favorite pour.

You lifted and petted it..Treating it like a little animal,building it a dark place to lay its soft head. Days went by,and you noticed your penis pet began to grow out of the little enclosure,features more and more defined.

You : They grow so fast. [gasps]

More mmrrrp noises came from your pipes,your sink..toilet and shower head. Soon your house was squirming with large penile aliens! Their tender knobs and teeth decor against your face.

You : [gasps] Oh dear...

The penile aliens began to poke where they shouldnt,but you were firm with them. You could'nt sleep with the mmrrp noises,and being covered in their slime,as they turned demanding..fighting to be intimate with you.

Over time they became aggressive and jealous as you spent intimate time with your toys and not them. Their warm,pleasant smelling bodies began to pile and wrap you,screeching and fighting for your holes.

You : [snarls] Bad..BAD.

You yelped as one went in you,stretching your stomach,then your knees buckled and you collapsed.

The mmrrp noises became erratic as they stuffed you. It felt horrible,but it felt good too. Weighted,full and gurgling,you panted and wobbled around your house,feeling them rhythmically pump you from inside.

You : [weak laughter] Eheh..

You fell to the floor,squirming and gasping in orgasm,spurting slime as the alien penile monsters had their way with you. Fat and engorged,you looked like an round egg on the ground,enjoying the pleasurable fullness of being stuffed from inside.

They climbed all over your body,sucking and biting on your body,covering you in hickeys. High from their pleasant smell,you did'nt fight them.

Their mmrrp noises were like music to your ears as you lulled to sleep in utter orgasmic bliss. You kept the penile aliens..and they kept you...

They took over your home..They became your everything...

Finding otherworldly Dick Monsters in your sink? Sign me up! Inspired by this post from the awesome @batbitestoys ! Their pours are gorgeous beyond belief..please show them love!

[get-shiggy-with-it]

*bg3 spoilers ahead*

word count: 1.5k

content: canon typical violence, Astarion x gender neutral!reader

What if you could hug Astarion after he finally kills his master? (set after the option where he does not ascend)

“Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.”

—

“But I'm not above enjoying this.”

—

The body fell to the ground with a rather disappointing thud—muted and squelching into a heap at his feet. It was, of course, a glorious moment still; Cazador dead by his hand, the light fading from his monstrous eyes. It was just that, well, Astarion had envisioned it would all play out with much more spectacle than the altogether clumsy manner his centuries-long tormentor crumpled lifelessly to the bloodied stone.

There ought to have been more of a flourish, he thought maybe foolishly. Something befitting of the dramatic climax when his freedom was finally secured for good. 

Cazador had loomed so large, seemed so above, reigning over him for centuries—controlling every aspect of his being that he might as well have been a god for all Astarion could refuse him. Ultimately, he had expected him to die like a god as well. Not like a man. 

Astarion had envisioned the hall echoing with the finality of his hollow corpse hitting the floor. Like the satisfying boom of great castle gates slamming shut on that portion of his life forever. This creature who ruled him, boot on his neck for hundreds of years, vanquished at last.

Above all, he expected satisfaction. A flood of it flowing through his cold veins and bringing warmth to his long dead skin. That the elation of it might bring him back from the brink of his undeath, however impossible that may be. 

And he did not get that.

Shocking. 

Instead, Astarion’s knees banged painfully to rest on the ground amidst his bloody handiwork rang out in the chamber. The sound of his bones jarring in his ears. 

The air felt thick and cloying, a dank weight in his lungs that constricted like a snake, leaving a growing tightness in his chest. Astarion sat for a moment—still waiting for the rush of fierce joy that never came. 

Which was strange, he thought distantly. He felt very distant now, somewhere between floating and tethered horribly to the ground, the magnitude of it all crashing down was suffocating. 

It would stand to reason, he had assumed, that at the end of it all—when his freedom had been secured for good—there would be a sort of immediate relief, like cool water to a burn, like the blissful ebbing of pain after a healing spell. Though apparently that did not stand to reason at all as now it seemed more as if he’d thrust the raw wound of himself straight back into the flames. There was no wave of elation as he stared from far away at his hands that still clutched the blade, as tightly as when he dealt the killing blow. 

So Astarion sat — feeling something slip away from him, leech out and stain the floor like the blood of his former master. And in all the empty space left behind, something else began to grow in him. Something which he knew must have always been there lurking under the weight of his rage and waiting to be released.

The tightness in his lungs culminated in the familiar sensation of a stone stock behind his tongue. His mouth filled with coppery spit as he fought through the pain to swallow it back. His throat felt as though it had been torn to shreds, burning as his eyes began to sting and something roared in his ears.

Astarion wondered from a place outside of his body if someone was weeping—the sound of it barely audible over the pounding in his head.

It wasn’t until the strangled reverberation of a sob, wrenched from his gut and leaving him flayed open as Cazador, tore through the chamber walls again that he realized it was he who wept, who wailed shamelessly in anguish. His head fell back — fanged teeth bared in a snarl, face contorted with the ugliness of a grief long since buried in the coffin he’d broken out of years ago. 

The dull constant pulse of vengeance pushing him ever onward after his escape had gone. In its place an awful throbbing ache that bloomed, growing in intensity like a knife to the skin of his back, a twist of the blade for every year he spent in Cazador’s possession. 

He’d done it. 

He’d slayed the beast. 

He’d won his freedom. 

And now he was left with all this pain that had driven him. That he’d clung to desperately so he would not give up. With no place left to put it all down. 

Nothing more to do with it but feel.

Though he took some small pleasure that the creature who had planted this seed laid before him now, just as small and broken as Astarion had been. 

Good, he thought — spat in his head. Another shout bubbled up in his chest, clawed its way past his fangs that scratched the plump flesh of his lower lip, scarred over years of self-inflicted bites. 

His knees ached where the harsh stone bit into them, his head spun as everything blurred around him with the moisture beaded in his eyes. 

Slowly, as if moving through honey, the world began to shift. The cavernous ceiling tilted down, down, down until his eyes were locked on the stone steps that led in from the hall. There was something warm and blessedly solid at his back - covering him where he was bare, enveloping him slowly into its sturdy, gentle embrace. Bringing him back to his body.

For a brief moment he thought maybe it was him that died. Maybe this was Death come to ferry him away. Wherever it was things like him went. 

But he didn’t think death smelled so sweet or so familiar. The rich smoke of campfires permanently woven into soft linen and leather, the light notes of lye soap underneath the metal tang of well-worn armor.  

Nor would Death have held him so kindly, cradled in a circle of strong arms. 

You were knelt behind him in the bloody mess, pulling him to rest against your chest with a light hand guiding his head to your shoulder. It was a balm - your touch -  a soft heat to the aching muscle of him.  Behind you, Astarion could just make out the blurry outline of his companions and the soft shapes of the other spawn, drifting back down to the stone dias. 

He couldn’t muster the energy to feel even a bit embarrassed by the way he turned in your grasp, the blade clattering forgotten to the floor as his nails scratched at your back, pulling you in closer, trying to crawl under your skin. 

“I’ve got you,” your voice came out in a hush. It seemed to him you were saying it more to yourself, an assurance of sorts. But he took solace in the words regardless.

How long had it been since he’d craved this—the touch of another? Since that time he could no longer recall, since touch had been a comfort, since his body had been his own. 

And now he longed to be fully engulfed, hidden away from the sting of the world, nestled safely between your ribs. As you muttered to him, he pressed his face to your neck which became increasingly wet with something that ran thinner and saltier than the sweet rushing of blood in your veins. 

Astarion thought he might have said your name — a whisper as the flood inside him began to ebb to nothing more than a trickle.  That you might have shushed him, petted his head like a dear thing. Brushed the tangled, silvery curls from his eyes and held him closer still. 

“You’re safe now,” he heard through the ringing in his ears. 

And Astarion—creature of the night, hungry beast, quick to bite and slow to trust—had never believed anything more in his life. 

“It’s over,” he said. 

And it was only partly true, but there was triumph in that still. 

This, at least, was over and you were still there at the end of it all. He found the relief of that simple fact so staggering that he could do nothing to resist your gravity pulling him in.

A drifting, icy comet caught in the orbit of your celestially warm chest.

“Well done, I think you got him.”

And despite himself, Astarion laughed. More of a hoarse coughing, really, than anything else. You were chuckleing too, your shoulder bouncing under his cheek and there was the miraculous feeling of lips pressed briefly to the crown of his head. 

“I should hope so,” he replied after a moment, reluctantly—though he would never admit it—allowing himself to be detangled from you and pulled to his feet. 

He tried to think of some sharp-tongued quip to diffuse the tension in the air but nothing came. Your eyes were red rimmed when he met them, looking up at him with something that might have been pride. 

And then the words came easily.  

“Always so full of surprises, aren’t you?”

[sol-consort]

filthy thoughts about the hanar, anyone? did anyone order hanar smut?

The soft tendrils, unimaginably smooth, feeling like strands of silk as they slither up your body, follow the curve of your hips, a slow pulsing pressure as they squeeze your delicious fat, a sensation so comforting as it eases the tension from your body. Massaging your thighs, licking down the tender spot in the back fold of knees, following your body as it writhes, as your toes curl from the cooler temperature of their tendrils, leeching off of your warmth.

Sliding against your stomach as your back arches above the sheets below, curling under your arms, brushing the sensitive nape of your neck, crossing over your shoulder, and teasing your collarbone. Your body is completely entangled in the hanar' tendrils. Silky strands pulsing, slithering, and squeezing whatever part of you they may reach.

It feels far too intimate to be probed and carressed this way, the immense trust you must place in this once hanar to completely violate the lines of personal space, to allow them to curiously tease and probe at every part of your body.

The special attention the hanar pays to your chest, fascinated by the anatomy of humans. The tips of its tendrils kissing your tender nipples, gentle at first, twirling them around, before growing more confident to flick them, drinking in the following whine leaving your lips. Repeating this action—getting more and more rough as they attempt to get more noises out of you, until your nipples are red and swollen.

There are no eyes to look at, nothing to stare at but the shimmering pink of their head, faint lights glimmering from beneath their skin, bioluminescent and hard to spot, wasn't it for the pitch black room.

Making them the only thing you could look at amidst the darkness, the beautiful fairy-like lights akin to whisps fizzling in and out.

Mesmerising you as one of the tendrils brushes against your lips, coaxing your mouth open, the mass effect field surrounding the tendril buzzes against your tongue.

It's tasteless, weightless even. Wasn't it for the tendril brushing against the top of your mouth, tracing your teeth, and rubbing against your tongue, you would've never felt its presence. It's so soft and as light as a feather, a seamless presence.

Really makes it hard to imagine how something like this could turn lethal in the water, how these very same tendrils are the most deadly at the depths of the ocean.

The tendrils seem so fragile, unable to lift more than your wirst, wrapping around your body and nudging you towards the position to move yourself in.

With your mouth still nursing on one, sucking against the soft thing, a different tendril squeezes itself inside your loose fist, moving up and down, encouraging your hand to stroke it, your fingers to grip the smooth texture and slide up and down.

The hanar humms, the faint lights increasing in quantity, soft flashes of colours from beneath the opaque pink skin.

Your ankles are delicately lifted into the air, just long enough to spread your legs apart before the weight becomes too much.

Retracting itself from your mouth, wet and dripping with your saliva, the tendril makes its way between your spread thighs, squeezing in-between the plump flesh, pressing its tip against your entrance.

Tapping against your hole, gradually pressing harder each time, opening it a little wider each time, before retreating back and repeating the process.

Easing you into being probed open, into the feeling of something silky slithering into your most sensitive part. Eventually, the tendril fully penetrates into your core, stuffing you full, remaining locked inside, stroking your walls.

You hear an echoing voice, the hanar resorting to vocal speech just to get a message across.

"Good human, this one is pleased with your obedience."

The tendril begins sliding in and out, the process becoming easier as a pinkish hue liquid pools into your insides, the squelching wet sound of it fucking in and out of you at a slow pace fills the room, mixing with the sound of your heavy breathing and stifled moans.

Another tendril squeezes itself into your entrance, slotting against the first one, setting an oppossing pace. Whenever the first tendril pulls nearly all the way out, the second one pushes in and curls around itself, becoming thicker in the process.

You're thoroughly fucked, two tendrils pumping in and out of you, as you're laying there, each one of your limbs entangled with another tendril still pulsing and squeezing your flesh, groping your chest, stroking themselves against the soft sensitive palm of your hand, all while the hanar observes you with what seems as eerie calmness. You can't decipher what any of those bioluminescet lights mean, you're left to wonder what goes on inside their head.

Do they even feel pleasure? Could they possibly experience sexual gratification? Or will you be the only one finishing tonight. Teased and toyed with until you reach an embarrassing early climax. Brought to finish time after time after time for this hanar's amusement.

Until the bed is drenched in a mix of your own mess and this pinkish liquid. What even is it? You don't know, do you? Of course not.

Because just like any other overconfident human, you didn't hesitate a second before agreeing to sleep with a species which you knew next to zero about their biology.

You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw this hanar across the bar, hitting on an obliviously uninterested human—much to the hanar obliviousness—who gave an awkward laugh before excusing themselves away. The poor hanar left standing there all alone, deflating in on itself as.

So, of course, you didn't waste any time before you immediately took their seat and introduced yourself, your enthusiasm taking the hanar by surprise, although what a pleasant surprise you've been to them.

Now they get to have you all to themselves, naked, helpless. Their very own eager human. Squirming on the bed from the sheer ecstasy they're subjecting you to, every place their tendril touches seemingly turns into butter and melts as it skyrockets in sensitivity.

Be it flicking your clit, kissing the the tiny nub with their tendril until it's all red and swollen. Pressing against it and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves around, the soft buzzing of the mass effect field creating the most delicious vibrations that turn your brain into mush.

Or completely wrapping around your cock until not a single patch of skin is left bare, your hips bucking to meet their strokes, it feels nothing short of heavenly; the soft texture of their silky tendrils akin to fucking into a flashlight, squeezing and pulsing against you, milking you dry.

By the end, you're completely spent. Insides sore as the two tendrils pull out with an audible pop. translucent pinkish liquid following along and leaking out of your gaping hole, its thick consistency sticking to the inside of your thighs.

And the hanar, seemes more than pleased with themselves as they admire the mess they've made of you.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 10: Passing out from pain

I’m soooooo glad I had this prewritten guys you have no idea. Who’s ready for a Hyrule blood curse fic? 😈

Warnings: blood and severe injury, brief body horror, uncertain fate of a character

Ao3 link

Continuation (day 18)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The blade sinks through his chest, and with it, seals Hyrule’s doom.

He can’t even scream anymore, his voice raw from threats and defiance and previous cries already torn from his throat. Ropes keep him from moving anything except for his head, and even if they weren’t, he’s so exhausted from the lack of nourishment and every last-ditch escape effort he’s made in the past couple days that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

So when the blade rips through him, right below his ribs, all that comes out of Hyrule’s throat is a breathy whimper.

It changes to a keening whine when the sword is twisted in his gut, the sound thick with agony. Blood gushes when the sword is pulled back out, and Hyrule lets out a weak cry, watching through blurry vision as his skin turns red with it.

Blood pools below him in a slight indentation in the stone, the rock cut precisely for this moment. It trails down the side, and Hyrule forces himself to watch as it lands in a large bowl with a pile of ashes, which immediately begin to smoke.

An angry sob tears from his throat as more of his blood spills, howls of victory and glee a cacophony in his ears. He fought tooth and nail against this ever happening, yet here he is, like a lamb at the slaughter, his blood spilled and Ganon’s return imminent.

And nobody comes to help him.

Hyrule closes his eyes then, shaking in pain and grief. He’d fallen through a portal alone, right into a near army of monsters in his homeland. Caught off-guard and dizzy from dark magic, he’d given the fight everything he had, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d been hit over the head and dragged away, and despite his endless attempts at freedom, nothing had worked.

The others had never shown up.

Goddesses if nothing else, send them to fix my mess, Hyrule pleads as he hears an unearthly squelch come from the ashes, and the monsters roar in excitement. Even if I have to die, help them stop him, don’t let my land be destroyed because of me.

A hissing sound is coming from the ashes now, dark magic coalescing and feeding off of Hyrule’s blood. It’s like ice in his veins, sharp and deadly cold, and Hyrule sobs again, giving a weak thrash against his bonds.

He can’t let them win. He can’t.

He can’t.

The dark magic is leeching off of him like a parasite now, feeding off of his blood and magic, stealing his energy and very lifeblood to use for its own purposes. The chanting around him speeds, excitement thrumming in the air. Hyrule hears something move beside him, drag itself through the ashes, and if he’d eaten anything in the past few days, it would be coming up now.

“More,” a voice rasps, phlegmy and horrific, and more tears born of pain roll down Hyrule’s cheeks as the blade sinks through him in a different part of his chest. He chokes, and it’s pulled out and slashed at his sides and arms as well. By then the pain is blocking out so much of his world that Hyrule doesn’t realize it at first when the blade is dragged from his shoulder straight down to the opposite hip.

He would scream, but what energy he had is being siphoned away from him, and all he can do is shudder with a cough that tastes like blood. His whole body feels soaked with it, and an almost hilarious thought drifts through his mind that it’s a good thing the monsters stripped him of everything but his shorts, otherwise he’d be washing bloodstains out for months.

As if I’ll live that long.

He convulses with another wracking cough, and blood spatters up with it, pain dulling so much of his world. For some reason the only clear sense he has left is his hearing, and his ears are filled with his own agonized breaths, chants and cheers of monsters, the gut-churning sounds of bones popping together and skin forming over flesh beside him.

He’s shocked he isn’t dead yet, but the dark magic probably has a hand in that. It’s siphoning even more greedily now, and Hyrule feels it increase and increase and increase until all he can do is shake and gasp from the pain it leaves him with.

It abruptly triples and rips a broken scream from his throat (apparently he is still capable of such noises), making his back arch and vision go red with agony. It only lasts a few moments, but they’re like a lifetime.

When it eases and Hyrule finally falls still, all he can do is drag in a trembling, wretched hiccup.

And then the laughter starts.

It begins at first weak and croaking, as if it has to remember how to make such a sound. But as the minutes tick by, it grows louder, and deeper, and so familiar that Hyrule nearly wails with the weight of his failure.

He’s back.

Oh gods he’s back.

Hyrule keeps his eyes closed as the laughter continues, his body finally gone limp. It’s the one comfort he has left, and the darkness behind his eyelids is getting deeper at the edges, the kind Hyrule only ever sees when things are really bad. But the moment he begins to drift into its edges, the stabbing ice of dark magic drags him back, wracking him with another bubbling cough.

Footsteps trail closer to him, different then that of the monsters who’ve been prowling around the stone. Fingers—claws abruptly grab his chin, tilting his face around, and Hyrule feels blood drip down his face.

“I know you live, Hero. Look at me.”

The voice is familiar and not, booming and smooth, yet holding an inhuman growl, one that makes Hyrule involuntarily shudder.

The claws grip tighter when he doesn’t obey, breaking skin. Despite how Hyrule doesn’t want to do anything that voice tells him, let his final act be one of defiance, his curiosity of what his failure has done gets the better of him.

He drags opens his eyes, and sees a monster.

Ganon isn’t a beast like when Hyrule fought him— but neither is he entirely a man. He’s some sort of mix of the two, claws rather than fingers, hooves instead of feet. His hair is more of a mane than anything, and where there isn’t fur, his skin has a blueish tone to it, one Hyrule wishes he didn’t remember so well.

Ganon’s face is largely human, though the features aren’t quite right, a snout-like nose, sharp teeth... especially the red eyes, shot through with a terrifyingly intelligent yellow. Those eyes study Hyrule in silence, the laughter subsided.

He tilts Hyrule’s head side to side, and Ganon leans so close to him that Hyrule can see the flecks of black in his eyes.

“This is the child who slew me?” he growls, digging his claws even tighter into Hyrule’s jaw. Hyrule can’t control the way his breath hitches in pain, and a smirk pulls at Ganon’s mouth, revealing fangs so large they’re almost tusks. “Pathetic.”

Ganon abruptly drops his chin, scoring marks along his cheek, and Hyrule can only watch as he studies the crimson on his hands, leaning forward to sniff it. A grin pulls at his lips, and he suddenly drags a clawed hand across Hyrule’s chest, coating his palm in blood as Hyrule chokes back another whimper of pain.

Ganon raises it up for the crowd of monsters to see, fingers dripping with red.

Then presses it to his bare chest, and the monsters roar at the handprint of blood left there when he removes it.

Ganon raises his hand to his mouth then, his tongue flicking out as he licks the remaining blood off his claws, and Hyrule chokes back bile. The monsters around them continue to roar, watching as their master licks their enemy’s blood from his hand, but they fall silent as he finishes, and raises a fist.

“Hyrule will be ours!” he roars, and the monsters roar with him, blin and poe, wizzrobe and daira, all ecstatic at the return of their master.

Ganon probably gives more of a speech of some kind then, one that whips the monsters into a near frenzy, but Hyrule doesn’t hear any of it, lost in his failure and brokenness. Blood still drips from his wrecked chest, sticky and hot against his freezing skin. His whole body is pain, his world is that of darkness and blood, and he doesn’t know why he isn’t dead yet.

Am I not even granted that release?

Something wet falls down his cheek, and Hyrule doesn’t know whether it’s blood or tears.

Just breathing is agony in its purest form, and Hyrule’s wet rasps grow weaker with every gurgling exhale. Claws grip at his chin again after a bit, pressing until his eyes open, and Hyrule sees Ganon leering at him mere inches from his face.

“Not yet, little hero,” Ganon growls, victory glinting in his eyes. “As much as I’d like to watch you drown in your own blood, I have use of you yet.”

Hyrule glares through the pain and his tears, rage at the beast in front of him granting him just a bit of energy. “G... g-go to... hhh—”

His chest convulses and blood spurts from his mouth in a weak cough again, making Ganon laugh.

He abruptly slams a clawed hand down on Hyrule’s middle, and his world explodes into white and red, swirling with stars that bleed almost as much as he is.

If he screams, he doesn’t hear it.

He can’t breathe, not through the pressure and pain in his middle, his throat full of liquid he’s too weak to expel. Hyrule gags and writhes, tears slipping down his nose, all while Ganon watches with a delighted smirk.

“Bring him,” he hears faintly, and Hyrule wants to do everything he can to stop that voice. He wants to scream and fight and protect his world from the monster he’s created, steal a sword and drive it through Ganon’s chest before he can do anything else, but he’s too drained. Too powerless.

Too weak.

All he can do is sob one last desperate prayer that his brothers will do what he couldn’t, and then his vision spirals from red to black.

[eggedbellies]

This is one of my dealer's choice commissions! Thank you anonymous, this was fun!!

Title: Midnight Search Wordcount: 1848 Kinks: tentacles, eggs / oviposition, suspension Synopsis: Jackson is a cleric with a job to do; get some flowers for a healing potion. Of course, they only bloom at night - and it seems something moved into the bog whilst he was away...

“Now ain’t this a damn fine idea?” Jackson heaved a great sigh from the very bottom of his chest, striding across the slightly boggy ground, deeper into the darkness. His bleeding heart had, once again, driven the cleric off in search of an unusual herb. There was no doubt that this stubborn curse required a very specific potion and, like the fool he was, he’d not ordered in any of the dried and powdered one for quite some time. No doubt a result of the particularly muggy summer, cracking open his reserve had revealed rather a fragrance of rot. Just wonderful. So now, here he was, letting his good boots get soaked with muddy water, heading off to find a flower as night truly fell.

“S’better fresh, at least,” he mused, wondering if he should’ve dragged on armour over the standard robes he’d taken to wearing. But getting a ponytail into a helmet was a nightmare, and whilst the bog was not the most pleasant place to take a trek, well, monsters were few and far between out here. Sure, he’d fallen off of the adventuring life and settled, it seemed; let himself soften down a bit, get a bit of a belly. But that was the nice thing about living out here, just being a local cleric, taking care of his community. Jackson was proud of what he did, dangit, and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like having to venture out to get ingredients stop him from making a cure.

The light was fading rapidly, but that wasn’t a bad thing – this particular bloom only opened it’s petals at night, but it was easiest to spot in the twilight. His boots squelched, the sucking water-mud mixture drawing his legs down with increasing power. Last time he’d been along here, he didn’t remember the bog being quite so deep… the edge of his robe was soaking quickly, unpleasantly sticking to his legs. Eugh. Gross. Murmuring a low incantation, sunlight glowed softly from his hand, casting the twisted trees around him, creating distorted shadows that he stoicly ignored.

Driving onwards, the trees got thicker and thicker, and still there was no sight of the soft pink glow of the flower that he needed. Damnit. There had to be something – this was definitely where he’d found them wild before. Casting his eyes up into the canopy, searching for any hanging by slender vine, he missed the roots that were rising just above the surface of the water – and with a yelp, his foot caught in it, casting him straight down into the pool with a loud splash. A moment later, cursing loud enough that a few birds took flight, he managed to drag himself onto a higher patch of ground, shaking water roughly off his robes. But it was too late. Soaked to the skin, Jackson reached up to squeeze his ponytail, grimacing. The light had flickered out, his concentration lost in the fall.

“Damnit to all Gods and Hells,” he muttered. This might be a lost cause. And now there was something wet and cold on his leg, probably a leech, which, ew. His hands began to reach down, searching for the offending insect, just as it occurred to him that whatever it was – it was far too big to be a normal leech. Eyes starting to adjust more to the dark, they caught the sight of something thick, shiny, rising out of the water, winding up his ankle – and then everything was cold and wet, liquid rushing up his nostrils as the cleric squirmed and fought, unable to cast a spell as he was yanked unceremoniously through the water. Just as he accepted that consciousness was about the fade and death might be around the corner, he was thrust into open air.

Gasping raggedly, he scrabbled hard, hands gripping at rock, mud, trying to pull away from whatever the hell was still wrapped around his leg. Twisting around, he aimed a kick, but succeeded in nothing more than entirely losing his boot. In here, there was a soft glow – from where he had no idea, but it suffused the small cave in an eerie pink light – and the air was unexpectedly warm, even if it was still damp. There, rising out of the water in front of him, a mass of lumbering tentacles. No beast he recognised, or had ever seen before - “What in the Gods-damned hells,” he gasped, coughing and spluttering, “are you?!” aiming another kick, even if it was bare foot, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen here. He didn’t know many violent spells, a healer by trade, but as he tried to summon up a simple ‘ignis’, it was too late.

They were everywhere. Soaking and slimy, and yet unbelievably strong, binding his wrists, jolting him up towards the ceiling. The ragged gasp was choked off, body covered in a writhing mass in what felt like a split second; one forcing it’s way into his mouth, coated in sweet water as well as something intensely earthy and natural. The sensation of his clothes being torn away was barely perceptible, all he could feel was every inch of those strong tentacles sliding over his body. Thick, pressing in to every part of his body, rubbing between his legs, spreading his cheeks, cupping his balls, stroking along the length of his cock… around his torso, over his thighs, and arms, and neck, not an inch of him was being left untouched. Struggling to gasp in air past the one that was wriggling into his throat, unable to get out a single word, more focused on just breathing, Jackson let himself relax.

There was no way out of this. And seeing as his cock was getting harder and harder, body tingling all over, he might as well enjoy it, right? Actually, the tingling was getting more intense by the moment, fogging everything over with a veneer of pleasure – whatever this damn thing was, it must have some kind of aphrodisiac in it’s slime – he had to get out of here – but as the goo oozed into his mouth, he was sucking on it like it was the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted. He couldn’t seem to stop, by the gods, it felt so good – something wrapping around his cock, now. It was drawing it down into something cool and so very, very wet – and all that thought went out of the window as the first tentacle began to push it’s way into his pucker.

“Oh, fuck -” he groaned, although it came out more like a garbled “hfh” because of the tentacle oozing down his throat. The tentacles were spreading his legs further, as if to gain more access, inch by inch of surprisingly thick tendril working it’s way into his orifice. His cock twitched, rock hard as the petals wrapped around it began to pulse and tug. He cried out again, trying urgently to roll his hips into it, needing more, more – but the tentacles were holding him tighter, forcing his trembling body to stay entirely still as tears rolled down his cheeks – not pain, but bliss, his body entirely accepting it’s invader. And still it sunk inexorably deeper – before releasing a spurt of cool fluid that made his whole body shudder as one, burning so hot that the coldness of the tendrils felt like a blessing.

It seemed happy with the depth it had achieved, now, starting to thrust. And oh, Jackson had never felt so much like a toy – it was using him, fucking him, like he was nothing more than a hole. It felt so good – his brain was lost in the fizz of aphrodisiac goo and the deep pleasure of being fucked hard. His cock twitched again, then again – and he came hard, right as the tentacle struck deep again. Every drop was drunk down, but he didn’t seem to go flaccid; whatever the hell this thing was doing to him, it seemed like it was going to drain him dry. The thought sent a cold thrill through his spine, legs twitching erratically. Fuck, hell, damns and gods, he never wanted it to let him go. The thrusts were rough, bouncing him despite the way he was being held. His body was relaxing, allowing him to stretch, taking a thickness he never imagined. Eyes rolling back, everything became just a wash of warm light and being used…

And then, suddenly, it froze. Totally still. Whining, Jackson tried to wriggle, to grind, but it wasn’t moving. Just as his eyes were starting to open, wondering if it was about to digest him, something began to press hard against his pucker. It was thicker than even the tentacle, bulging it out, but there was no doubting it was going to come in. It pressed inexorably, millimetre by millimetre, and then – with a faint pop – the egg entered him. Shuddering violently as he released a pittance into the tube around his cock, Jackson went utterly limp – not that it made a damned difference to the grip around him. But there was nothing to do. Slowly, it rolled up inside him, shockwaves of pleasure before it popped loose and settled deep inside him.

Then there was another. And another. Before long, a whole parade of round eggs were squeezing into his body. Jackson shuddered. The tendrils started to loosen their grip, just enough to allow for his rounding belly. A rough gasp escaped past the drooling tendril in his mouth, struggling to get enough air before let alone now that it felt like his very lungs were being compressed. Pop, press, release, swell – he rocked in the grip as best he could, starting to feel like a balloon, the tentacle sliding in deeper with his sheer weight. As the last egg popped inside, Jackson shuddered through a completely dry orgasm.

And then the tentacle began to loosen. He was being lowered. The grip around his body began to drop – thinking that he was falling, his arms flailed, grabbing at anything – and then he was being pulled again, dragged through water. Enough forsight this time to inhale first. The rush, now somewhat reduced by the size of his over-swollen belly – his sore hole, twitching spasmodically – the feeling of the water pressing on him – he almost came again just from being rushed back to where he was found. Dumped unceremoniously on the stream, he panted in air, crawling just a few steps away before his legs spread. Overstretched as he was, it took only a few strokes of his overly tender cock before all the eggs were rushing out, splashing back down into their pool. When he could think again, rubbing his tender belly with one hand, Jackson looked up at the starry night he could see through the gaps in the trees.

Then, languidly, he lifted up his other hand, still clutching whatever it was he’d grabbed from the ceiling of the cave. The soft pink glow of the flowers stared back at him.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me --”

[what-have-i-unleashed]

we will all end here

for my detested @howlsofbloodhounds. this is what you get.

killer looks at the house where he has been told color is currently held in. it doesn’t look special - there is just an ordinary front door, tucked into a shadowed corner of the old house. when killer puts his hand on the knob, it gives way so smoothly that killer has to pause for a moment.

beyond the door is a hallway, abnormally long and faintly glowing with a cool turquoise and lavender light. it looks cozy - almost too cozy in fact. the air smells faintly metallic, like pennies soaked in salt water, and the walls are curved inward just enough to make one feel as if they were being funneled forward.

killer steps inside, his snow-soaked winter boots landing on what looks like to be polished marble tiles. they shimmer faintly, the glow flickering as he walks step by step. the floor gives a soft, wet squelch, though when he looks down, the tiles seem dry with no stains.

“hello?” killer calls out, his voice falling flat in the oppressively large space. just how long is this corridor?

the more killer walks, he can feel the hallway seem to stretch on, longer than it should be. he walks faster, trying to shake the growing uneasy feeling that starts to develop in his lead-laden soul.

after some agonizing time has passed, killer reaches out to steady himself against the wall as his vision swims. but it isn’t smooth plaster he feels - his hand contacts something warm, soft, and damp, like skin. hastily, he snatches his hand back, a faint, gooey residue clinging to his fingers that shimmers in colors he can’t name.

something's wrong.

you should leave now.

killer turns his back, sprinting towards where the exit should be. and the door is... gone. behind him, the hallway seems to shrink in towards him, its tiles now shifting faintly.

his stomach turns. “just an old house,” he mutters, trying to convince himself.

he can do nothing but continue his trek. the air grows thicker as he walks and walks the endless corridor, the metallic smell now intensifying to a nauseous degree. ahead, the hallway curves sharply, the light shifting to a deep, honeyed amber. something about the bend ahead feels wrong, as if the corridor were holding its breath.

killer rounds the corner, and freezes.

the corridor doesn’t end in a door to anywhere, but in a massive, circular opening, its edges ringed with jagged shapes that gleamed wetly in the dim light. for a moment, he thinks they are shards of glass, but as the light caught them, they twitches and flexes organically.

teeth, his mind supplies, probably way too late.

the opening pulses, its edges quivering like lips on the verge of speech. beyond it is pure darkness - an expanse so vast and deep it makes his head spin. faint golden lights winks at him, pulsing in an irregular rhythm, like distant stars with a heartbeat.

killer takes a step back. the floor beneath him ripples, almost playfully, knocking him off his balance. the walls begin to close in, their slick surface glistening like a hungry beast in anticipation of a meal.

“no, no, no!” he shouts, spinning around, but the hallway behind him has transformed. the cold marble tiles are gone, replaced by something soft and pink. killer finds himself stuck in the fleshy trap, slowly sinking as if he was standing in quicksand.

a low, guttural sound echoes from around him, not quite a growl but not quite laughter either. the air shifts, releasing an unpleasant acidic smell invading his nostrils.

the maw of the opening above him somehow stretches even wider, the teeth shining wetly as they part, and killer feels the suction grow stronger. he can't feel his leg anymore, and the hallway gave a final heave, throwing him forward into the gaping dark of the leech-like organism.

for a moment, he feels weightless, suspended in the void. the golden lights swirl around him, blinking like enormous eyes. only, they aren’t stars at all.

the last thing he feels is himself unraveling - not only his body, but his mind. memories, thoughts, and fears peeled away, swallowed into the endless, living dark.

then the maw closes with a satisfied sigh, and the hallway is still once more.

[systastic]

Our headmate is a moth, he'd love a dim, but cottagecore aesthetic headspace, if that's possible! something with a library for our archivist, though!

möth… we have a moth shifter too!! :] needed a bit of a brain break from alters ghsjfhs, so many level threes to do and yet so little progress… -🌳

Dark Cottagecore Headspace

Cabin in the Woods

Those who reside in the house have an acute awareness of the outside world and what is happening in the body’s day to day life beyond the bounds of their imagined realm. Any others who live in spaces beyond the house are NPCs and nothing more. The cabin itself is an expansive place; hallways twist and turn, wood creaking under your feet, as the house itself guides people where they want to be. Each headmate has a room of their own within the cabin that they can decorate and alter to their heart’s content.

Gated Greenhouse

A large greenhouse that sits next to the cabin in the woods. It feels out of place at first sight: what is a large and ornate building doing here? Stepping inside reveals the truth: this is the fronting room used to control the body. Here, they may control the body, passively view the world around them, or offer commentary on what is occurring at the moment. Current fronters see what the body sees through the glass windows of the greenhouse.

Blackwood Pond

Deep, still waters sit nestled a few yards away from the house. The pond is used as a communal memory pool; anyone who dips into its waters can wade through the depths and dredge up memories that the body keeps hold of. It is surprisingly cool in the pond, and better still, no leeches in sight. Clusters of fireflies flock to the banks of the pond come nighttime, depositing new memories from the day and milling about in peace.

Unattended Tea Party

A dirt path winds through the trees to the left of the cabin. Situated at the end in the middle of a clearing is a round table with chairs pulled up next to it. This place, though odd, is always stacked with snacks, refreshments, and other odds and ends for the residents of the Cabin to use. It used to be governed by the Mad Hatter — maybe that’s why the tea tastes so strange?

Wooden Hollow

Darkness surrounds you. Rot and dead leaves squelch under your feet. Things that are better off not remembered or repressed are all shoved into the hollow, far out of sight. Delving into the depths can earn pearls of wisdom or long-forgotten snippets that can be essential for the body to know. Beware, cavern-dwellers: not all of the things found within the hollow are as simple to handle as stray memories. Rumors speak of repressed alters and irredeemable persecutors trapped at the bottom for their crimes… Let’s hope those rumors aren’t true.

Fairy Ring

Wishing upon a star is good in theory, but it won’t get you very far in an imaginary world. A seemingly ordinary ring of mushrooms solves that problem in a snap thanks to the help of fae magic. Unlike most fairy rings, this one doesn’t spirit the person away never to be seen again. Instead it serves as a quick and easy teleportation device to take alters from the Cabin and its surroundings to either the Mirelands or Briarwood. How very convenient! Some say it can take you to other realms, too - but no one quite knows if that’s true or not.

Archivist’s Spire

What is a librarian without their library? Bored, that’s what. Fortunately for the occupants, the Archivist’s Spire is crammed full of all sorts of knowledge. Need to know about what the body did in fourth grade? It’s in here. Childhood memories? That’s here, too. All of the non-communal memories are stored away in here with a sorting system that only archivists and other memory-keepers can understand. To everyone else, it’s merely a strange library that they can’t seem to unlock.

Briarwood

Some ways away from the cabin is a sleepy little town chock full of NPCs. People of all sorts live here: an aging old woman and her spry adult son, a new family with redhead twins, those who spin rumors and tales alike, and a handful of shopkeepers that always seem to know just what people need. It’s more of a distraction than anything; since the people here are not alters, it’s a nice place to go if you want to get away from real life.

image source here

The Mirelands

At the far edges of the headspace, beyond the lush forests and rolling hills, lays a dark and swampy area known as the Mirelands. This place is the center of all myths and rumors that the NPCs spread: vicious monsters, ghostly apparitions, tricky little fae, and more. It’s not recommended to visit the Mirelands unless you’ve got a serious thirst for a fight. Stay here for too long and you may get “gloom rom” - a mysterious affliction that saps a headmate’s energy, leaving them sluggish and blurry.

[celestialspecial]

Such Sharp Teeth

I needed to write a werewolf fic again, so many other writers i follow have been putting out bomb content so i had to join in <3

Writers notes: It's not true abo dynamics- some elements are featured but it doesn't follow truly, it is reader insert but MC's name is Aurora-

also go read @becauseicantthinkwritings Objects in Motion, hooooly shittt

Warnings: 18+themes, graphic descriptions of body transformation, insinuated non con elements, reader digression advised :)

All you could feel was the cool air on your skin, blowing through your hair as the moon glowed overhead. You felt strong, powerful. It was exhilarating and freeing all at once. The beauty of the forest surrounding you as the sharp ribbons of silver moonlight cut in shards through the trees.

You could taste the air, smell bread being baked from miles away, hear people talking and animals scurrying away from you. The forest floor rose up time and again to meet your feet, every sensation heightened. It was a beautiful thing more often than not, but tonight was different. Tonight there was a sense of desperation inside of you.

A tinge of fear, footfalls echoing behind you, they were far but yet still so close. Too close for comfort. Howls rang out and you knew that you'd never escape keeping pace like this. Your breath grew ragged, no longer deep inhalations but tortured puffs. 

You could see your breath in the air before you and then you felt the pain surging through your body. Bones breaking, tissue tearing, muscles unraveling only to be knit back together in another form. You wanted to cry out at the pain but it’d only alert them to your location and that was far too dangerous. 

You could taste blood and feel tufts of fur spring up along your spine as it twisted and mangled its shape into something new. Your eyes blurred as you felt the bones in your face collapsing and extending, ears rising up and canines lengthening in your still too small mouth.

The next time your foot hit the ground it was no longer a foot, but a paw. The squelching sound of mud making contact with the pads of it. You had been running fast but now the speed was unparalleled. Heavy panting as you pushed yourself to the brink of exhaustion.

You still had miles to go but the howling was far off in the distance growing further away and that’s how you liked it. How it’d need to be for as long as it took you to figure out the next step.

The covers you woke up in were caked in mud, it crunched as you shifted in the bed, pattering to the floor surely creating a mess. You groaned stretching your arms overhead, human arms, the muscles sore and aching from how far you’d run last night. 

Even the edges of your feet and tips of your ears felt taut with tension and soreness. Rubbing a hand over your face, coming away with more dirt.

“Shit.”

“Shit is right, look at the state of this room.” A friendly face poked her head in through the doorway. She was tall, elegant limbs covered in a chunky sweater and leggings. Dark brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, light hazel eyes filled with a touch of mischief.

“I’m sorry, Celeste. I promise I’ll clean everything up.” She moved over to the side of the bed, holding a mug of something that smelled heavenly. Gesturing for you to take it, the heat seeping into the palms of your tired hands.

“I’m not worried about it. Here, drink. You need something to warm your bones.” You nodded taking a long drawn out sip. The liquid was chocolatey with a medicinal hint that washed over your tongue and seemed to heat your insides up almost immediately. 

“It should help with well…everything.” She gave a half hearted smile, shrugging one shoulder up, before adjusting the edge of her sweater. “You came a very long way.” You finished the drink, setting the mug into the side table next to you. The warmth began to leech into your bones finally and you felt immensely grateful for Celeste and her healing abilities. 

“I couldn’t stay. I had to…I just-time was running out.” The reassuring smile gave way to an earnest look of sympathy.

“They can kill you for this.” You swallowed thickly, all too aware of the dangers you had put yourself in. The odds hadn't been in your favor but you had to take a chance, to get away from home. Home. It felt a sham to even call it that. 

“I know. And I’m beyond grateful you letting me stay here the night but I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Celeste made a waving gesture in the air, dismissing your words.

“Don’t be ridiculous, stay as long as you need.” The kindness created a fist in your throat, you’d been friends for years, writing letters back and forth since visiting often wasn’t allowed.

Rival pack members weren’t allowed to associate with one another more than their Alphas permitted.

You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to shove down the hatred and anger you felt for your pack. To call them such a thing felt like a crime in and of itself. They were horrible and controlling, to think of yourself free from them felt exciting and terrifying. 

“You could get in trouble.” You nearly whispered, even though no one was around to hear. She brushed off the notion.

“We’ll figure out a place for you to stay in the meantime. Has it started?” You gave a brief nod, not wanting to talk about it. The temperature of your skin, the cramping, that undeniable ache that shook you to your core. Like your body was no longer your own. It was infuriating and deliciously tortuous.

“Then in a few days when it’s over we can figure out what to do from there.”

“Your brother is gonna kill you.” 

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“Speak for yourself.” Celeste only gave you a smirk before squeezing your shoulder in a comforting fashion.

“Alright up, I need to change these sheets. A dirty dog rolled all over in them.”

That night felt like hell, a worse cycle than you’d ever had before. The winges of pain and agony ached through your system. It felt like your body had been tossed into a blazing fire.

In fact that sounded much better than what you felt now. Heats were different for every pack member but you couldn’t recall a time when you wished you were unconscious instead of enduring it.

You had needed to get away from your town, your pack before this happened. Before you were tied to the worst man you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.

You were his property in his mind and the idea of you turning him down, running away rather than accepting his forced mating had surely sent him into a rage. 

Maybe your body knew what had been coming and was throwing a fit in rebellion even now that you were in safe territory or maybe the strain and stress of escaping and being on the run had done you in.

Either way no matter how many cold showers you took, how many naps your forced yourself into, how many times your own hands attempted to hit their mark, it wasn’t enough.

Celeste had left a hearty brew of tea for you that was supposed to help, you’d chugged the whole thing down to the shock of your friend and still nothing. Or maybe it had helped and this was the edge being taken off.

Being hit by a bus felt less excruciating than this. 

You somehow managed to fall asleep and when you woke your mouth felt dry, the familiar ache between your legs remained unsatisfied.

You wanted to tear the pillows on the bed to pieces, watching the feathers explode and drift down around you as your screamed into the frigid air. 

You couldn’t even keep the window open for fear of Celeste's male pack members smelling you and paying an uninvited visit. Tipping off her brother that you were here, potentially getting her in loads of trouble.

Your fingers itched to tear open the window and taste the cold November breeze. Your nails scratched gouges in the white paint on the window sill as you stared longingly out at the frost bitten garden. 

A soft knock came at the door, seeing your friend slipping into the room with another pot of strong smelling tea. Celeste sat the tea down on the side table, noting your frustrating posture by the window.

“I’m sorry, I know exactly how you feel.” 

“I hate it.” It sounded like a whine, maybe it was but at this point you didn’t care. 

“I have to go out and run some errands in town but I promise it won’t be long. Drink the rest of this, I put something in it to help your frazzled nerves and maybe even get you to sleep.”

The thought of sleeping another 48 hours and waking up normal again sounded so enticing. 

“Thank you.” You crawled into bed staring out the window imagining running freely through the forest, only this time not away from something but towards something better.

Something that felt intangible right now. Tossing back a long swig from the tea pot and letting your eyes shutter close for however long they’d allow.

The hours crawled by and you felt yourself somewhere in a slumber and waking titration. Eventually you could see the sun was lower in the sky, mid to late afternoon maybe?

Your body groaned in revolt as you got up from the bed, joints creaking and popping, clasping the now empty teapot in your hands.

You could feel the sweat dripping down your brow, swiping at it, rubbing at your eyes anything to avoid feeling how warm your whole body felt.

Celeste hadn’t come home yet and you managed to scrub the pot clean, place it in the drying rack and wash a dish or two more. Just to feel useful for once.

Wanting to be the least invasive houseguest as you could, moving over to where the washroom was and folding some of the sheets spilling out of the dryer. The small menial tasks actually helped contain the disjointed feeling your body was experiencing.

The sound of a key being inserted into the side door, unlocking and closing alerted your ears that Celeste was home. You felt too tired and pained to call out to her, instead waiting to see her face pop around the corner, but it didn’t. 

Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor and sounds of bags being dropped onto the kitchen island, accompanied by the soft sound of items, perhaps fruit, falling out and rolling along the granite. Then you smelled it.

The most intoxicating scent that had ever graced your nose. It was pine trees and fresh crisp air, like looking up into the night sky on a winter evening. It had a bite at first that smoothed into a warm rich earthy quality. There was even a hint of spice, it overtook every one of your senses, like you’d been bathed in it.

This wasn’t Celeste. 

Your ears strained to listen to anything this visitor was doing, whoever it was they had a key. Fuck. Celeste hadn’t told anyone you were here. Your muscles tensed, noticing all sounds from the kitchen had ceased.

Attempting to pad as quietly as you could out of the washroom, venturing a quick look into the kitchen. Sure enough there were grocery bags with oranges spilling out onto the island but no one around.

Silence.

If you could just sneak to the back door, you could see it from your point of view. One quick leap and you’d be gone and able to shift and disappear into the fast approaching night.

One step, then another. You were always known for being quiet in your pack, able to sneak up on any prey. This was no different.

Another few steps and you’d be home free. You felt the cool wooden floor kiss the tips of your toes before the strongest force you’d ever felt knocked you from your feet.

Your legs barely touched the ground before your back was slammed into the nearest wall, tauntingly so close to the back door. Large strong hands held you in place, your shoulders pinned against the drywall.

The scent you’d smelled before consumed you, your traitorous body arching against the wall towards the source.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep, a hint of gravel. Male. You felt your vision clearing from your head smacking against the hard surface to see sure enough a large man in front of you.

He was tall, towering over you, lean and athletic, muscles strained under his white shirt, corded along his forearms down to his hands that stilled you.

You felt the anxious pull to look down, to not meet his eyes. The undeniable mark of an alpha, it irked you to no end. Taking a steadying breath you fought your body, looking up into his face.

He was handsome, carved from rock and earth and dusted with something you couldn’t quite place. 

Dark brown hair that fell across his forehead, the sides were closely cropped but the rest hung longer, down to eyes that were such a deep brown you could lose yourself in them easily.

You could only imagine how radiant they’d look, flecks of gold catching the light when he smiled, but right now they were cold, calculating. The air caught in your throat, a choking noise all you could muster.

Your arms flexed against the wall, knowing you couldn’t escape but dying to, begging to. His nostrils flared, you watched the pupils in his eyes dilate, consuming the already deep brown gazing back at you. His fingers gripped you tighter.

“I said…who are you? Why are you in my sisters house?” 

“I…I.” Your brain couldn’t form words, not now. The scent of him, the feel of his touch against your heated skin, you could feel dampness spreading between your legs, the slow ache building inside your body clawing to get out.

Your inner wolf was barely continued under your skin, a popping sensation in your ears, the room felt like it was spinning.

It was like he could sense everything going on in your body, the way his eyes roamed ravenously over your flushed skin, his fingers flexing against your arms, the intensity of his gaze.

It was a split second but you could feel his face pressed into the crook of your shoulder, hear him inhale you deeply. Groaning as he exhaled, there would be bruises on your body where he gripped you so tightly.

You couldn’t hide the gasp that left your lips feeling his hips pressed against your own, his arousal evident. You felt your hands reaching for his back and his grip lessened enough to let you, your nails scraping against his muscled back through his shirt.

The noise he made rumbled in his chest, you could nearly feel it reverberating through your own body. The scratch of stubble scraping against the soft skin of your neck as he breathed deeply the scent of your heat and your legs yearned to be wrapped around his waist and carried to the nearest flat surface.

A bed, the couch, the floor-

“Hey, HEY!” You felt his hands fall from your arms as another voice rang through the room.

Celeste was wedging herself between the two of you, arms out protectively in front of you. “Billy! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

The man before you took a step back, his eyes were still pitch black, his chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching as if testing that they were truly not holding you anymore. 

“Celeste. You know this woman?” 

“I do! This is Aurora, she’s-she's my friend.” His eyes narrowed on you.

“I don’t recall ever being introduced to her before.”

Celeste glanced worriedly between the two of us, I nodded at her, the most encouragement I could offer at the moment.

“She’s…uh…. She left her pack.” His eyes widened a touch, lips parting, taking a solid deep breath before looking back at Celeste.

“Celeste….” His words were a warning, tinged with anger, frustration, concern…

“I know! But she needed to get out of there, they were gonna force her to mate with a homicidal maniac of an alpha!”

“An alpha?” His tone was harsh and abrupt, rubbing the bridge of his noise, lines forming on his brow. “Jesus Christ, Celeste. Do you know how dangerous this is? To us? To the pack?”

“Forced Mating, Billy! That’s barbaric!” He sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his already mussed hair. 

“It is. I know that as much as you, but some packs…still participate in the old ways…” his words weren’t convincing anyone, you could see it in the strained expression on his face.

You drew a steady breath , hesitantly pushing away from the wall you had just been pinned to. You missed the feeling of heat from his body being so close to yours already.

“I…I can leave. No. I think I should, Celeste, he’s right. This is dangerous you guys can get in a lot of trouble hiding a rival pack member. If you were to get caught it could be…it could be bad.” 

Billy and Celeste both were looking back at you, you could see the similarities between the two. The dark hair and long lean stature, Billy’s eyes were significantly darker, but they shared similar noses and mannerisms. How they stood, staring you down, intimidating and beautiful.  

“Rory…where would you go?” Your friend sounded so incredibly sad, it broke your heart. “Plus it’s not safe…”

“Once my cycle is over, I’ll leave.” Billy watched you with the focus of a pack leader and in the way only a wolf could. At the mention of your heat you noticed how his nostrils flared, chest rising into a territorial puff. “I’ll find somewhere to go.” 

Celeste walked over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into a hug. You held her tightly, the overwhelming feeling of fear and frustration from your body and emotions beginning to take a tighter hold of you. 

“Wait.” A deep sigh came from where Billy stood. “We can figure…something out. Until you have a safe place to go.” His dark eyes were no longer black orbs but the brown had returned, a softness, and something else danced across them as he spoke to you.

“But-“ he raised a finger, the look of admonishment towards his younger sibling. “Do NOT let anyone else know she’s here until I say, and make sure she stays in the house until... well until it’s safe.” 

You watched as he gathered his keys from the island, turning to walk across the kitchen, his heavy motorcycle boots louder than they had felt before, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him.

You knew what you had seen in his eyes, because you could feel it just as deeply. Longing. And something just below the surface, barely concealed but there nonetheless.

[twistedwonderlandfantasies]

How the Leech twins rail you 💦🦐 (NSFW)

(Polyamory)

Fem!reader

18+

I have no shame 😪

- Floyd loves teasing you into oblivion. “Hey, Jade, look at how shrimpy squirts when I do this~” He says with the smuggest face while pushing three long slender digits back into your squelching cunt. He looks at you while he does it too. You’re not allowed to take your eyes off him, either, if you do he’ll only finger-fuck you faster. “Shrimpy~ didn’t I say to look at me? Don’t turn away. I wanna see that adorable face you make when I touch you here~” he’ll then rub his index finger over the sweet spot in your cunt, eliciting the most erotic moans he’s heard your lips shamelessly spill while clenching around his fingers as your body prevents him from pulling out.

- Jade would watch closely, savoring the sight of your pussy dripping pools of liquid underneath you from his brothers doing. Jade is however more tender with you; he’d lean in to give The sweetest kiss on your lips while whispering praises. “You’re so good. Look at how irresistible your body is. Can you cum for me like that when I fuck you?” He says while hands tenderly run across your body in awe of your beauty. The noises of your cunt is enough to make his cock twitch. “It’s a shame to let all of that go to waste, let me drink it.” He smiles, but theres no hiding the intention behind his expression. The next thing you know is his mouth hungrily sucking against your folds, long tongue collecting all the cum you had spilled earlier before sliding into your hole to taste more.

- If you are in a daring mood, as to not obey Floyd, be ready for getting teeth and hand marks on your ass and thighs. The last thing you want to do is turn him sour while he’s enjoying you. He will make, or force you to apologize. Floyd has a sadistic streak (obv) and doesn’t just want any apology. Oh, no, he wants it with you crying and yelling under him. He wants to feel your body convulsing from overstimulation as he continues thrusting into you so hard your head is practically hitting the headboard of the bed.

- If your apology is sincere enough he might just forgive you, otherwise his next position is doggy, hand gripping your hair so your neck is craned to where he can lean in over you and whisper in your ear. “Is this what you wanted, shrimpy? To get painfully fucked? If this is how you like it we can always do it like this, then~” the way his voice hitches desperately with the pace of his thrusts is sexy enough to send you over the edge then and there.

- All the while Jade is underneath you, sucking and fondling with your breasts. His one hand might move lower to stimulate your clit while the other gropes you. “Floyd, keep this pace, I do so like when Y/N’s breasts bounce in this rhythm.” He’ll make sure your buds are red and sore from his mouth and fingers.

- If you’re willing, they’d take you from both sides. Floyd would want your ass so he could grip it, leaving bruises of where his fingers were later on. Jade is, well, the more proper of the two, opting for your pussy. While the pace might start out bearable, by the end of it both twins will be tearing you apart selfishly chasing their highs. So expect no mercy from either of them.

- As far as kinks go, Jade enjoys roleplay. You’d walk into his room dressed in some skimpy maid outfit, skirt short enough to show your ass and the top has a boob window. He’d have just finished his shift, tiredly sitting on his bed still in uniform before seeing you come in. “Y/N… what a lovely surprise.” Suddenly his fatigue is gone. Everything with Jade is slow and sensual; hot, burning, almost torturous. He’ll wraps his arms around your waist, kissing you gently before asking to enter with his tongue. Hands would begin to slide up your back, undoing the ribbon holding your outfit together. His lips trail down your chin to the crevice of your neck where he sucks on your favorite spot, careful his teeth don’t pierce your skin. You feel yourself leaning into him, hands holding onto his suspenders as your legs begin to weaken from the aching between them. Don’t worry, Jade will pick you up by the thighs to hold you against the wall. “You look so wonderful… it’s almost a shame this has to come off.”

- Floyd has a choking kink. His hand might not leave your neck for the entire session, actually. Or his arms would wrap around you from behind as you sit between his legs on the bed, back against his chest. He’d squeeze you by the waist, boobs, thighs, even your arms. This man has enough grip strength to break bones if he wanted to, but with you its just enough to leave bruises when he wants it, where he wants it.

- These two sly fuckers also have a thing for public sex. You wouldn’t expect it from Jade at first, but at this point you’ve learned he can have a dirty side to him. Not nearly as bad as Floyd, though, that man is a walking danger zone sign. “Y/N, come try this new drink I’ve created.” Jade calls you over as you were sitting at a table with a few friends in the busy lounge. You of course come, always happy to try his creations. “This is good!” You nod, looking at him gleefully. Jade smiles in response, sliding his arm around your waist. “I’m so glad you like it. I think I can make it even better, though.” He coos into your ear before his hand goes lower, palming your pussy. The bar covers you two from the waist down, but the blush that spreads across your face is something you can’t hide.

-They both enjoy pool sex. Its just fun seeing you try and swim away, laughing off the very dangerous, sexy situation your in. “The water temperature is quite nice today…” you make futile small talk. “don’t be coy, shrimpy~ Jade made it colder so we could help warm each other up, heh.” You send a glare at Jade, but he only snickers like usual. Suddenly Floyd dives under water and you lose sight of him. Oh god, what the hell is he gonna do this time? Yank. You get pulled down by the ankle. Jade follows suit, swimming to you to then breathe air into your lungs through a kiss while Floyd lets you go to continue your game of tag once more.

- The twins will never leave you bored, honestly. They love seeing you in every stage: climaxing, coming down from your high, the way you get flustered, when your bratty, moody, stubborn, when you’re the one teasing them, they love all of it. Those eels are totally enamoured with you, and everyone knows it. They even know it a little too well with how loud the twins make you scream sometimes. Who knew humans were so attractive?